Full Name:
Abbitt Strellous
Age:
Seven years old. (Twenty-six in Mici years.)
Height:
Two feet and three inches.
Weight:
Eighteen pounds
Race:
Mici (Extraterrestrial)
Eye color(s)
Black sclera with dark gray irises.
Physical Description
Like all others of the Mici race, Abbitt possesses a flat chest and stomach, with short limbs and four digits on each hand, a white-colored exoskeleton head, two jagged horns, two spikes protruding from each side where the ears would be, black and dark gray orbs, plus a number of swirling carvings embedded across his face.
For his attire, a deep blue cloak is worn, combined with a purple scarf around the neck. Beneath it all lays a gray and white undersuit. Strapped beneath the cake on his back is a personal shield-generator, designed to have heavy damage resistance against energy weapons and explosives. As for footwear, two little white boots with small blue ribbons are worn, resembling baby-shoes in shape.
Personality:
Unlike many others of his species who are often full of energy, Abbitt is better composed than most, undeniably sweet towards friends or anyone that would be accepting of him. With some highly refined social and negating skills as an off-world diplomat for the Mici government, he aims to offer others emotional help when seeing another in distress.
One trait that is still retained from his own race is the constant desire for physical affection, which is often why he’ll request to sleep in the same bed with one of his affiliates. This attribute is reflected by him frequently sitting another’s lap, giving frequent hugs, or ask to be carried in somebody’s arms.
Despite the dangers, frequent assassination attempts, and enemies made overtime, Abbitt is almost fearless when it comes to personally oversee independent investigations on slave traders. Burdened by the fact his mother was an abductee herself and likely died as one, he has since sought to prevent others from experiencing the same fate and feeling.
Occupation:
With a degree in galactic politics and criminal justice from other civilizations, Abbitt currently works as an Ambassador for the Mici government, always going on diplomatic missions and meetings with other planetary leaders, in addition to trade negotiations.
As a completely voluntarily side career, slave owners and traffickers are privately investigated, with or without aid from other governments, depending on whether or not they’ll assist him. The aim is to find and give out information to planetary authorities on the whereabouts of slave rings to both shut them down and free the captives. Through Abbitt’s devotion, hundreds of people, both human and alien have been rescued before being personally rehabilitated by the diplomat himself.
When it comes to traveling off-world, a transport ship is provided. Around nine staff members are present, an advisor, one pilot, one engineer, a doctor, two stewards, one councilor, and two Mediators. (Personal bodyguards armored with non-pain-inducing and non-lethal weapons/devices.)
Talents:
A common trait most Mici possess are lesser psychic powers. While not advanced enough to peer into a person’s thoughts for most, they can easily sense another’s emotions. Despite not being a full-blown telepath, Abbitt can be quick to see a hidden agenda to anyone he speaks with in person, which has made him rather gifted in telling when someone is lying in conversation.
With some training in piloting, Abbitt is very familiar with operating starships and other kinds of stellar craft, as well as some technical education.
Like all male Mici, Abbitt also holds an incredible amount of physical strength, whereas females are speedsters, enough to lift a grown, two-hundred-pound man off the ground. Such an ability is only ever used in emergencies or when necessary.
~Other Muses~
Revei:
The only recorded case of a Mici capable of committing actual violence, and the ability to kill. Revei is a vigilante that travels across the galaxy and actively hunts down traffickers/slave traders, culling them without remorse before freeing any captives he comes across. He's well-versed in using his psychic abilities for combat, including telekinesis, and able to inflict terrible nightmares upon his opponents at well, even while they're wide awake. Many people have granted him the nickname: The White Reaper.
Long ago, a female Mici attempted to flee back to their homeworld with her child, only to be caught by slavers. In a small compound, they performed a series of horrid experiments on her in a separate room. Having heard agonizing the cries from his mother, Revei forced his way out of a cell and immediately came to where they had her pinned, just as the men walked out for a short time. It was there where she had her last moments, and her son balling his eyes out, begging her not to go since those traffickers had fatally wounded her from their experiments.
When he final breath was taken, she died right in his arms... Seconds later, one of the staff responsible for her injuries, hollering and screaming at him to get back in his cell. Something within him snapped, taking a scalpal before using it to destroy the man's face. A weapon was taken off a guard to begin massacring every, last, staff member on-site, not a soul was spared. A shuttle they used for their slave trade operation was stolen to make his escape.
While all Mici tend to have a psychic aura that induces a sweet, fuzzy feeling, Revei does not possess that quality. Instead, there is a turbulent, unsettling feeling that one may receive from being in close proximity to him. Sleeping next to him at night has a high chance of someone having his nightmares enter their dreams, a problem that he cannot control. This issue has unsurprisingly made it difficult for him to make any close friends, or find a mate. For this reason, Revei will try to avoid emotional attachments.
Unknown to most, being what many call a Blighted Mici, he is immortal. While he can still be killed, he cannot age to death. Revei is fifty-plus years old.
Comments
Legacy blinked slowly at the strange creature who had just introduced himself. Ambassador Abbitt Strellous of the Epsilon Republic? She had never heard of that place before. Legacy was quite the bookworm, too. How many nights did she trade sleep in favor of getting lost in text? And what was he talking about with the soul transference? She was no experiment. Well, not in the way he seemed to mean, anyway.
"I wasn't transferred into this body," she said finally. “Well, not exactly anyway. I was born with this body. My mother was a cat, just as my father was.” Her ears flicked uneasily, unsure how much to reveal. But there was something about Abbitt that made her want to trust him. Maybe it was the gentle way he had petted her, or the kind look in his eyes. Perhaps he reminded her of a bygone era; the days when she was just a cat. How simple life had been then!
Whatever the reason, she found herself continuing. “I had owners, once.” Despite the years that had passed, the old ache still took her breath away. The tip of her tail quivered, but it was the only outward sign of distress. “When I lost them, I lost myself as well. I desired to become more and was tricked by a witch to get it. The short story of it is that I have a human form as well, though I sometimes find it a little more easier to get around as a cat. It’s easier to go unnoticed.” She gave him the side-eye, amusement dancing in her gaze. “Well, most of the time,” she purred.
She studied Abbitt's face, searching for any sign of animosity. But all she saw was curiosity. “Whatever I might pretend to be, I am still a cat," she went on. "But that’s why I can talk, why I have...abilities that other cats don't." She lifted a paw, watching as her claws extended and retracted with a soft snick. "I'm a witch, Ambassador. Courtesy of the witch who gave me my human form.”
She fell silent, letting Abbitt digest what she had told him. It was a lot to take in, she knew. But she had a feeling that this strange, ghostly man could handle it. After all, he didn't seem entirely normal himself.
Roger & Abbitt
If Roger had been given a chance to speak first, he might have not known what to say. The strange fellows had taken him aback in more ways than one. But an individual from the group of mothmen had immediately chosen to the lead the conversation so that was off his list of worries. Unfortunately, where that problem was metaphorically crossed out, greater concerns replaced it. The first and foremost being the little guy's terrified tone and the alarming instructions he'd barked out while using it.
"E-evacuate?" Roger stuttered a bit as he blinked cluelessly and rubbed the bleariness from his eyes. Having been forced out of bed by the earth-shattering crash wasn't making this any easier. "W-what colony?" There was no need for the insectoid to respond to his question as it was answered by something much bigger and louder. The airborne explosion had Roger shooting his attention up to the sky.
What he witnessed was like something straight out of a Star Wars film. Roger caught enough of a glimpse of the dreadnought before it was obscured in smoke and flames to gather that was what it essentially was. The fiery display was hard to mentally digest on its own, but the strange creature's remark made it several degrees more difficult. "Terran?" Roger uttered the word, catching onto its meaning pretty quickly.
"That's one of ours?!"
He glanced up from the cricket people, if that was what they were, to the heavens again. There were starships everywhere. Fleets of them! The multitude of menacing, jagged forms reminded him of scavenging crows, scouting out prey from overhead. His humble abode looked to be the target. Just as that dreadnought had been the previous victim.
Was Earth under attack?
Roger winced as he felt a slight pinch on his ankle and he looked down to find the tiny white thing tugging at it and suggesting that they fly away. But how could he? He wasn't a bug like this little guy! He hadn't a set of wings to get him off the ground!
Unless...
He eyed the fallen ship. The one that was crashed, and had left a dent in the side of his bedroom wall. There weren't many other options, it seemed. "A-all right!" Roger blurted out and made a run for the grounded metal giant. In nothing but a black tank top and grey slacks, he felt a bit ridiculous, but this entire scenario was exactly that. Absolutely mad.
Once he reached the side of the Mirra's hull, Roger paused, having to ask. "But how do you know if it still works?!" And while unspoken, there stood another rather glaring query in a sea of others. Why did such tiny beings require a spacecraft so massive?
Roger & Abbitt
Rude awakenings were quite a common occurrence for Roger Williamson. Nearly nine times out of ten the disturbances were caused by vivid nightmares having to do with pretty much the exact same subject. Visions of a chaotic future haunted him just about every night, and even when he tried to fit in a catnap on the sofa in the evening. Sleep was anything but a luxury for him because it almost always ended in a similar manner, which involved waking to a start all sweaty, delirious and distressed.
This time around, Roger was sincerely determined for a different outcome although that mindset its own was hardly going to change a single thing. He had attempted to take action by pushing out as many negative thoughts as possible and drinking not only one but two soothing teas before dressing in his comfiest pajamas and pulling the covers over himself in his bed. If he ever wasn't meant to be bothered by those devilish dreams, that moment of peace would occur right here and right now.
It was going as well as it could have, perhaps even more so than usual. Roger hadn't tossed and turned as much as what was typical for him and when he slowly slipped from consciousness, he actually fit in an hour or so without anything bothering him. Things, for once, were really looking up. If this carried on throughout the remainder of the moonlit hours, he would finally be able to experience a morning where he truly felt as if he'd rested well!
But then it hit. Literally hit.
The noise was deafeningly loud and equally as unexpected. And, as if that wasn't perceptible enough on its own, whatever had caused the ear-splitting boom had shaken the entirety of his home and along with it, the land surrounding it. It was such a terrible ruckus that it might have woken the dead, so it was a given that a living man like Roger Williamson would immediately pop out of bed. Shaken from head to toe, heart pounding, Roger got on his slippers and made way for the nearest window so he could witness what had created such an unholy amount of disruption.
"Oh, what on..."
Roger paused mid-speech, completely dumbfounded by the white metal mass that had collided with the wall. It was giant, intimidatingly so, and unlike anything he'd ever laid eyes on before, save for those spacecrafts found on science fiction movies which he'd flipped past on the telly every so often.
He wasn't given enough time to wholly take in its surprising appearance in or notice that the wall by his bedroom had been severely damaged, though, because in a span of a few minutes, several tap-tap-taps sounded off at the side door. Attention snapping to the one thing that served as a barrier between himself and what he could only presume was a person or who-knew-what-else affiliated with the crashed aircraft, Roger reached out for the knob. At first he hesitated to open up, fearful for what he might find on the other side. But curiosity overcame caution as it so often did and with the click of his keys he unlocked the door, peeking his head out to find nobody at all.
At least, until he glanced downwards. Too small to be children in silly costumes and far too big to be ants, Roger wasn't sure sort of folk he was looking at. "Erm..." The journalist wasn't sure what he was supposed to say to these creatures so he just left it at that, his jaw hanging slightly agape as he ogled at them.
Sadness reflrcted in her amber gaze when he mentioned a collar. No, she didn’t have a collar. Not anymore. Not that she had been particularly good at keeping them on. She was far from discarded. If anything, her self isolation was of her own accord. She had no one but herself to blame for her solidarity. For a moment, she closed her eyes, the purr rumbling through her body as she pressed her head into his palm, losing herself in the familiar touch of being stroked and petted. Such a simple act, yet it had once meant so much to her.
His words were a jumbled mix of the nonsensical and the profound. Political leaders? Meetings? Warnings? Those were not concepts that should be coming from a child's mouth, no matter how strange his appearance. And yet, there was an unmistakable weight behind his words, a sense of importance that belied his playful demeanor.
Legacy's ears perked up as he spoke, her tail twitching with curiosity. She had initially thought him just a peculiar child, but now...now she wasn't so sure. And then he mentioned food, and her ears perked up for a different reason. Meat from an embassy? That sounded far more appealing than any scrawny mouse. Not that she ate mouse anymore. When had been the last tike she tasted mouse? So, so long ago. But meat? Yeah, she was a real carnivore, through and through.
Legacy sat back on her haunches, looking up at him with an unreadable feline gaze. "I don't need you to sneak me food," she said, her voice low and smooth. "And I'm no stray cat." The words could be perfectly heard, with a hint of mew accented her words.
She paused, studying him. He might seem surprised, but hopefully not frightened. "My name is Legacy," she continued. "And I have never heard of a child speaking of politics.” Her ears perked. “Who are you?” She stopped short of demanding what are you? She was polite, despite the curious eating away at her.
She didn't shift, didn't change her form. But there was a weight behind her words, a sense of self that went beyond what her body might suggest. She was more than just a cat, and she wanted him to know it
Legacy darted through the forest of legs, her agile form weaving past pedestrians with practiced ease. Her amber eyes burned with a singular intensity, her gaze fixed on some point ahead. Despite the clarity of her focus, a hint of cloudiness lingered in their depths, the weight of unspoken thoughts heavy upon her. At last, she arrived at a quieter stretch of the street. The sun danced across her tawny fur — a beautiful blend of different hues of brown, with a little black and white mixed in. Rain had fallen last night, puddling along the sidewalk in small puddles. Puddles that the feline swerved to avoid with an irritated flick of her tail.
Her mind was a whirlwind of contemplation, so much so that the first delicate coo barely registered. It was a sound she knew well, one that often signaled the approach of tiny humans. Their parents rarely approved of these chance encounters, their wary eyes seeing only a stray, a flea-bitten feline of no consequence. How little they understood. Sometimes it was just....easier to travel as a cat. No one bothered her and she could easily sneak aboard public transport.
Legacy's ears twitched, swiveling towards the noise as her paw hovered above the ground. Her head turned, amber eyes locking onto the source of the sound. A gentle blink, a quiver of her whiskers, and her gaze swept the surrounding area. No parent in sight, no sibling...he was alone. Her tail thrashed in irritation. How could people be so mouse-brained to lose track of their child?
Her nose twitched, drinking in his scent. Rabbit, her mind supplied, though it couldn't quite be true. It looked like something she used to have for dinner, but this rabbit creature walked upright. Now to mention he spoke. Rabbits, as far as Legacy was aware, did not speak.
Yet, despite the oddity of him, Legacy felt the familiar tug. This little rabbit-boy was lost, alone just like the children who always seemed to find her. They sensed the calm in her, the patient gentleness that flowed from her very being. And so when they lost their parent in a throng of a crowd, they often migrated towards her.
With a newfound purpose, Legacy altered her course. Her tail twitched once, a languid motion, as she padded towards the boy. A soft mew, a question and a greeting, fell from her lips. For now, she said no more. Instead, she closed the distance between them, her head bumping gently against his hand.
A purr kindled in her chest, a soothing rumble that spoke of comfort and peace. It was an offering, a promise that she understood his loneliness, and that - for the moment - he was not alone.
“Strap in, Ketos, we’re approaching the city now.” the Kathari half-breed said, gesturing for his companion to brace itself as the Aspasia prepared for landing at their allotted destination. She was an older ship and thus a bit twitchy when switching over from interstellar to atmospheric flight mode. The ship began to rattle as the interstellar jump drives powered down and allowed the ship to exit the jump, though its captain did not seem concerned at all. He knew the ship well enough to know that this was completely normal and nothing to get worried about. His companion, Ketos, on the other hand; a vaguely humanoid reptilian with no discernible ocular features, a mouth full of jagged teeth, and a slender “malnourished” body with an exceptionally long and agile tail, was not particularly fond of the ship’s unnerving rattle. Perhaps, Ketos showed concern because it had no way of actually seeing what was happening precisely. Although equipped with photo-receptors underneath the skin, they merely detected the shadowy outline of movements interrupting the light. It primarily relied on smell and vibrations in order to detect its surroundings. The sudden rattling of the ship essentially would’ve made every detail of the ship visible to the reptilian, likely causing a form of sensory overload. That being said, at the end of the day it was completely harmless and only served as a mild inconvenience.
Exiting the interstellar jump caused the surrounding space to seemingly warp and fold in on itself as the ship was violently flung into existence. Faster-than-light speeds had a tendency to cause visual anomalies due to the very nature of the physics involved. Flying an older ship model through interstellar jumps usually caused much more violently anomalous displays of space warping. Despite being an older ship and seemingly being bent into existence, the ship made no concerning sounds. No creaking, no cracking, nothing. The Aspasia may have been old, but she was certainly more than reliable.
As the ship approached the chandelier-like city structure, Orinn put the vessel in landing mode, extending the landing gears and deactivating the turrets. After the ship had landed and he’d registered over the coms, he rose from his captain’s chair and made his way to the armoury. There, he’d put on his vest which had rows of grenades along the straps meant as a last-minute contingency when necessary. He’d then attach a large gun on his back, which probably weighed almost as much as Orinn himself. The gun had a fairly unique design, most likely a makeshift design built by spare pieces. The barrel itself had a very wide diameter, probably made by old tubing. The magazine of the weapon was unusually large and circular in shape, sitting on the top of the weapon. The custom-built grenade launcher reached a length of over 120 centimetres, which didn’t leave a lot of room between it and the ground, given Orinn’s mere 170-centimeter height. Along with the massive weapon, he also attached a couple of rusted red canisters to a belt that he wrapped around his hips and waist. The belt came equipped with a holster for a hand-held blaster pistol. After he’d decked himself out, he grabbed one final item; a whip-like object of indiscernible purpose. Then he exited the armoury and made his way out of the retro-fitted former cargo vessel, by way of a loading bay elevator at the aft section of the ship, with Ketos in tow.
The feline humanoid was not a big fan of large city-scapes such as this, preferring smaller asteroid mining colonies and other such backwater locals. But money is money and he was certainly curious about the mission that laid before him. As he wandered the streets, constant attention was drawn to him due to his unusual appearance. Some people simply glanced at him in passing, trying to avoid making a scene, whereas others would stop entirely in their tracks to look. Kathari were unusual on their own, but a Kathari-Human hybrid was relatively unheard of. Although he’d been born with the signature horns and hair quality of the Kathari, his skin was relatively hairless, especially compared to a true Kathari. All Orinn could do was nod his head and give a little wave or a wink to some. He was well aware of the attention he drew, but he made the most of it by masquerading as a charming traveller and alluring scoundrel. Despite having an unusual appearance, there were still a fairly large number of people who found him quite attractive - likely due to the fact that he had such an unusual appearance. But this was no time to share stories to a curious crowd, or pick up a bed companion at a local bar, no, he was here on a mission. At least, most likely. There’d of course been missions he’d denied in the past as they went against his integrity, but they were quite rare and far in between. That being said, he was no stranger to death and destruction so although he cared about his integrity, one would still do well to question his moral compass.
He’d been walking for some time through the streets or corridors, trying to avoid drawing too much attention to himself - a mission he’d fail spectacularly at most of the time. After having made a few wrong turns and having to retrace his steps he finally reached a location that matched the description he’d been given and, Ah, there it was, the Inn where he was supposed to meet up with his temporary employer. He wasn’t quite sure who exactly he was looking for, a detail that he often neglected to memorise. Why should he remember a person whom he’d see maybe just a couple of times when the details of the job and location were so much more important? That being said, he was pretty sure that he was looking for someone who wasn’t human. Either way, he wasn’t one to seek his employers most of the time. He had them come to him so as to avoid any potential backstabbing or ambushes. People couldn’t be trusted, Hel knows, he himself could not always be trusted and he was well aware of that fact. Even so, he had a reputation of always fulfilling his jobs one way or another which left his commissioners mostly satisfied in the end. As he entered the Inn, he briefly scanned the room before heading straight through the Lobby and leaned against the wall next to the reception desk where he’d wait to either be approached or asked to go to a more specific spot. Regardless, he wasn’t difficult to spot given his heritage, so anyone who was looking to hire him would probably spot him right away.
(Thanks for accepting my friend request!)
Need to pet little plush toy...
Squishy squishy
( *¯ ³¯*)
I am. :)
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